Last Sunday began early, ahead of our services for Holocaust Memorial Day. I had been invited to speak on BBC Radio 4’s Sunday programme regarding the Beckham family crisis. I chose to speak on the theme of honouring one’s parents, a concept central to Jewish tradition and vital wherever possible.
To illustrate this, I shared a story from the Talmud about a man who was offered a phenomenal business deal. He declined it because the keys to his safe were tucked under a pillow where his mother was sleeping; he refused to disturb her rest, even for a fortune.
This story feels particularly apposite as we mark Holocaust Memorial Day. The dwindling generation of Shoah survivors are, in a sense, parents to us all. Their legacy and personal testimonies are a treasured inheritance that must inform our lives and those of the next generation.
In these recent years of anguish – marked by the suffering of both Israelis and Palestinians – the act of remembrance becomes even more critical. Whether through communal Yizkor or personal Yahrzeits, memory is the golden thread of Jewish life. This year’s HMD theme, “Bridging the Generations,” is therefore deeply welcome. While not a date on the Jewish calendar, HMD was established by the British government on 27 January 2001 to mark the liberation of Auschwitz-Birkenau in 1945. It insists on the passing of memory to the young, reminding us of the incapacitating truth of human cruelty, a truth evidenced today from the streets of Minnesota to Tehran.
Last Shabbat at FPS, we were privileged to hear from Lydia Tischler, MBE. As both a Holocaust survivor and a child psychotherapist, she spoke with unique authority. Her final words to us were a warning:
“Be aware of the dangers of projection that can result in the dehumanising of the ‘other.’ By understanding that impulse, you are more likely to resist it. Projection is at the heart of every cruel act and regime. To project our own darkness onto others and deny their humanity is what unleashes cruelty.”
She explained that this psychological mechanism was at the core of the Holocaust and every genocide since. It is a call to remain vigilant.
I brought our baby orphan scroll from Prague to the service at St Mary’s in Finchley that was attended by local councillors, MPs and the Mayor.
I showed the binder, from the monochrome in Praha to brightly coloured at FPS, bearing the names of babies blessed in our synagogue. One of those children celebrated his Bar Mitzvah last June using that very binder.
These threads are woven together: past and present, stories and impulses for courage. May the memories of those murdered in the Shoah, and in Bosnia, Cambodia, Rwanda, and beyond, be for a blessing. May we take seriously our duty to carry them forward.
Shabbat shalom,
Rebecca
“There will be a palpable, thick darkness … there was an opaque darkness in all Egypt for three days. No one could see their neighbour, nor could anyone rise from their place.” (Exodus 10:21-23)
We often think of this plague as innocuous, perhaps the least severe of the ten. In fact, many “Plague Story Kits” for children include nothing more than a pair of sunglasses to represent it.
Yet this, the penultimate plague, was arguably one of the most devastating, because of the profound isolation it created. It is for this reason that JAMI (the Jewish Association for Mental Illness) chose this Shabbat to raise awareness for mental wellness.
Darkness is heavy, pervasive and frightening. We have all encountered it in both its literal and metaphorical forms and we know many others who struggle with it. The most harrowing part of this biblical description is not just the lack of light but also the paralysis: the Egyptians were unable to rise from their beds or reach out to one another.
The artist Vincent van Gogh once wrote in his journal: “A man may have a great fire in his soul and passers-by see only a little smoke coming from the chimney.”
It is difficult enough not to know how someone is; not being able to reach out or be reached out to is harder still. Many of us struggle with these periods of darkness. We should take this parasha as a vital reminder of the Jewish impulse that permeates the Torah: Lo tuchal l’hitalem – you cannot remain indifferent. You cannot ignore the suffering of those around you.
I am deeply grateful to JAMI for the essential support they offer to those experiencing their own darkness. Long may their precious work continue. My sermon mental wellness sin light of this Torah portion will be on their website.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rebecca
We watched Marty Supreme this week. My children were moved and animated by the film, which is loosely based on the real-life story of Marty Reisman, a shoe salesman, and a hustler and a brilliant table-tennis champion in the late1950s . The film captures a certain Jewish angst specific to post-war New York, yet endemic to that post-war identity everywhere. As the director Josh Safdie said, “I do think there is a certain unrest in Jewish culture.”
The enduring image of the film is this tenacious, smart and reckless young man wearing a Magen David chain throughout. He refers to his people and his past a great deal, inviting the viewer to reflect on the Jewish spirit that enthused him, the film and many of us today.
The word am, “people,” occurs nearly 1,500 times throughout the Hebrew Bible, 204 of which appear in the Book of Exodus. These particular parshiot hold the core of our people’s identity and storytelling. On seven occasions, the word ammi, “my people,” is expressed in the famous phrase addressed to Pharaoh, “Shallach et-ammi v’ya’avduni ba-midbar,” “Let my people go, that they may worship Me in the wilderness.”
We become a people through these Egypt narratives and the way we have held onto the story through generations. Yet the people we meet in this parasha are so downtrodden and exhausted they are unable to hear the consoling message of imminent freedom. The film reminded me of the enormous recalibration of Jewish life and existence post-Shoah:
וַיְדַבֵּ֥ר מֹשֶׁ֛ה כֵּ֖ן אֶל־בְּנֵ֣י יִשְׂרָאֵ֑ל וְלֹ֤א שָֽׁמְעוּ֙ אֶל־מֹשֶׁ֔ה מִקֹּ֣צֶר ר֔וּחַ וּמֵעֲבֹדָ֖ה קָשָֽׁה׃
“When Moses told this to the Israelites, they would not listen to Moses, their spirits crushed by hard and cruel work.” (6:9)
Kotzer ruach literally means “shortness of breath.” As they were becoming a people, they initially resisted consolation but, as we know, eventually bought into the idea. And so the story continues for us, in every place, in every generation and in every heart.
Please join us for our extraordinary Holocaust Memorial Evening on Wednesday, 28th January. We will be showing the film Dragon, Chaos and Light, followed by a Q&A with the directors. More information here Chaos Dragon and the Light
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What does it mean to have a ‘calling’ – to be called to a career, a family life, or a new place? We spend our lives making names, shemot, for ourselves, shaping how we want to be known and recognised. The book of Exodus, which we begin reading this Shabbat, is titled Shemot, meaning ‘Names.’ In it, Moses is called at the burning bush to liberate the Hebrews. He resists this calling five times before reluctantly agreeing, struggling with a heavy dose of imposter syndrome. Yet Moses recognises this as a decisive moment. Most of us will experience such moments, even if they aren’t quite as grandiose as a burning bush. Many of us feel called to do hard things; I am frequently humbled by those who undertake extraordinary tasks simply because they felt called to do so. The author James Baldwin put it this way: “You have to go the way your blood beats. If you don’t live the only life you have, you won’t live some other life, you can’t live any life at all.” (From one of his final interviews with Richard Goldstein, discussing love and identity). Ultimately, I suppose each of us is called to attend to our own life and create the ‘name’ that only we can carry. Shabbat Shalom, N.B. Talking of being called I wanted to remind of our Holocaust Memorial Day evening Wednesday 28 January with the film and life story of Marika Henriques, Hungarian Jew and survivor. See details below. Please join us. |
You’d be unsurprised to learn that I think about death a great deal. I get to accompany so many as they approach it and afterwards, I witness families as they grieve. There is no doubt that talking about and preparing for death is a good thing, if it’s manageable and available. Knowing what you might wish for in the end days is helpful not only for yourself but also for others. I read Dr Katherine Mannix’s extraordinary book, With the End in Mind; How to Live and Die Well (whilst on honeymoon – occupational hazard!). In it, she talks of ways of dying and the energy and thought we give to it to prepare ourselves, not only in a lachrymose way but in a positive and sanguine manner as well.
So it’s interesting that this last portion of the Book of Genesis, Vayechi, as we inch our way into the new Gregorian year, speaks of death and endings, both Jacob’s and Joseph’s. We encounter Jacob speaking plainly and candidly to his children:
“I am about to die” (Gen. 48:21) . . . “I am about to be gathered to my kin” (49:29).
And he tells them what he hopes for, then Joseph does the same to his brothers. They both want to ‘go home.’ They want their bodies, and bones in the case of Joseph, to be laid to rest back home. The pull for the familiar and where they came from is so compelling, so they exact promises from the brothers that they’ll go home.
Both scenes illustrate the writer William Faulkner’s truism from his 1951 play Requiem for a Nun that “The past is never dead. It’s not even past.”
We carry it all around with us. I like thinking that more than just our life should inform our death but equally, the other way around. Our death and what matters should inform our life and the way we live. This feels apposite for these early days of 2026. Join us for what is likely to be a an intimate first Shabbat of the year at FPS.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rebecca
This season of Christmas and its repercussions and ripples affect all of us living here, chiefly being the invitation to gather with friends, family or community, even just briefly through these sometimes interminable bank holidays. I know it’s not easy for everyone. Not everyone has folk to gather with. Loneliness is a real epidemic and I think of it a great deal during these days.
This week’s Torah portion, Parashat Vayigash, captures the moment Joseph’s brothers draw near to him. The word ‘vayigash’ literally means ‘he drew near.’ Joseph properly [and rather shockingly] reveals his real identity to them. This is followed by much intimate crying and getting closer. Jospeh wants to be with Benjamin, his brother, and his father, Jacob. His brothers seemed to have learned a lesson not to cause more grief in the family and they are loathe to return to Jacob without Benjamin.
I suppose this portion serves to remind that getting close to family, friends or community is a very good thing. If it is not available to us, then I want to remind you all that community is here for everyone. It’s one of the best things about FPS.
This Shabbat morning after the service, Beverley will host a Bagel Brunch for all who fancy staying and being together on one of these bank holidays. Do let know if you fancy staying.
I wish you a restful few days.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rebecca
This anger, this darkness, this spilling out of anger I know is frightening to many.
I hear that from many of you and I want to share the commitment I’m experiencing to safety and security for our community and our Chanukah gatherings this week, both tonight’s interfaith lighting and Friday’s families’ and members’ Shabbat Chanukah.
We continue to light. From Talmud onwards through Maimonides, Shulchan Aruch to today, we’re encouraged to light the chanukiah in a public space at our home’s entrance. But always there’s the proviso of you don’t feel safe, don’t do it. That tightrope of sentiments is where, maybe, we all are right now. It’s ok.
I’m holding on to the kindness and heroism of Boris and Sophia Gurman who lost their lives trying to stop the gunmen, and of Ahmad Fatih Al Ahmed, who literally put himself and his body on the line to protect those being attacked. The world has those souls, as well as the others. Let’s add to the former this Chanukah with courage and connection.
But I’m here for everyone. Please reach out if you need me.
Wishing you a meaningful Chanukah with as much light and love as you can muster.
Shabbat Shalom too.
Rebecca
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Sheila Hancock, the actor and writer, spoke about life and ageing. It’s all down to you, she said. That is the truth that guides life. Every opportunity we take or conversation we begin. Every new thing we agree to, or principle we hold onto. It is all down to us. Parashat Vayeshev introduces Joseph in his idiosyncratic specialness. As he becomes a parent, Jacob is unable to shift from the favouritism he experienced in his childhood as he singles out Joseph for love, praise and the famous multi-coloured dream coat. As a young man in Egypt, Joseph fends for himself. He continually falls on his feet, doing well maybe because of God’s blessing, his canniness or both. In a particularly dramatic moment in this week’s Torah portion, Joseph refuses the overture by the wife of his boss Potiphar: |
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This verse captures something extraordinary that calls to us in the way we navigate moments of decision making in our lives. By way of the trope (or accent) in the Hebrew text (a shalshelet over the verb וַיְמָאֵ֓ן, “he refused”), the Masoretes indicate how very super-human Joseph’s resistance to her advances must have been. The note stretches out this one word in its intensity and uncertainty. He is resisting temptation. This is a fairly dramatic moment but we all know times when we have had to decide something quickly. Rabbi Sheila Weinberg and the Sefat Emet, Rabbi Yehuda Leib Alter of Gur, 19th century, both talk of the moments of decision-making that we all come across, where we need to pause, take a breath and really think. Even further afield, both Lao Tzu, 6th BCE, and Pema Chodron, Buddhist Nun, agree – the centre of your being is where you have the answers. We all have to dig deep, take a moment, question ourselves and know that ultimately, it’s all down to us. A neat reminder. Shabbat Shalom, |
Last week, our MP Sarah Sackman KC, came to Shabbat service. She told me that, on Shabbat morning, it was hard to leave her family to come to a synagogue that was not her own. But she was so happy she’d come; she enjoyed our service so much. Anticipation and reality are often different.
It was a compliment indeed.
This week, we encounter Jacob still on the run, nervous and anxious about his brother.
Jacob was greatly frightened; in his anxiety, he divided the people with him, and the flocks and herds and camels, into two camps. (Genesis 32:8)
He is then utterly surprised by their reconciliation and by the warmth of Esau.
Esau ran to greet him. He embraced him and, falling on his neck, he kissed him; and they wept. (Genesis 33:4)
Being pleasantly surprised is one of the best things in life – and I love the idea of that happening here at FPS and of you being pleased you came. Please try us. Our newly restored building is worth a look and a visit.
We like to talk of FPS standing on three pillars: sacred (and magical, as Sarah Sackman encountered) moments of prayer and learning; gathering with and for each other; and our work for justice, all of which try to meet us in our busy lives, exactly where we are.
Shabbat shalom,
Rebecca
This Shabbat will be all about our place. Literally. We get to dedicate and celebrate our place in the wider community with our MP Sarah Sackman, our Mayor and our Councillors. We are very much woven into the fabric of things here in Finchley, in Barnet, in London. And of course we also have been the place for our families, our members and those who have found consolation and joy within our walls. The word in Hebrew for place is makom. In post Biblical literature, the rabbis started to see makom as symbolising God, or goodness or the sacred.
So how extraordinary that this week’s Torah portion, Parashat Vayeitze refers to makom so repeatedly. Jacob, our Patriarch, has left his mother, his father and his home, taking with him only his birthright, stolen from his brother Esau, from whom he is now running. He’s alone, maybe for the first time, and primed for an experience.
He came upon a certain place and stopped there for the night, for the sun had set. Taking one of the stones of that place, he put it under his head and lay down in that place.
וַיִּפְגַּ֨ע בַּמָּק֜וֹם וַיָּ֤לֶן שָׁם֙ כִּי־בָ֣א הַשֶּׁ֔מֶשׁ וַיִּקַּח֙ מֵאַבְנֵ֣י הַמָּק֔וֹם וַיָּ֖שֶׂם מְרַֽאֲשֹׁתָ֑יו וַיִּשְׁכַּ֖ב בַּמָּק֥וֹם הַהֽוּא׃
Jacob awoke from his sleep and said, “Surely יהוה is in this place, and I did not know it!”
וַיִּיקַ֣ץ יַעֲקֹב֮ מִשְּׁנָתוֹ֒ וַיֹּ֕אמֶר אָכֵן֙ יֵ֣שׁ יְהֹוָ֔ה בַּמָּק֖וֹם הַזֶּ֑ה וְאָנֹכִ֖י לֹ֥א יָדָֽעְתִּי׃
Shaken, stirred up, he said, “How incredible is this place.”
…וַיִּירָא֙ וַיֹּאמַ֔ר מַה־נּוֹרָ֖א הַמָּק֣וֹם הַזֶּ֑ה…
Sefat Emet (Yehudah Aryeh Leib of Ger, 19th–20th century) wrote a great deal about makom, place, in this moment of Torah, explaining sometimes we have to be ready for the revelation, for the feeling and meaning that exudes from the place if we let it. Jacob sees what’s there, hamakom – truly sees it. Maybe it’s his first spiritual awakening. I wonder for all of us what places and moments have moved us and offered a magical sense of makom, of being in the place that you need to be.
I feel that right now in our renewed sanctuary. The whole synagogue has been lovingly restored to show its beautiful bones, as our architect Phyllida Mills identified, and this is why taking a moment to acknowledge this place and all it does and symbolises is a good thing.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rebecca
P.S.
For those who’d like and are able to be good neighbours (or angels) on Christmas Day by driving nurses to and from North London Hospice please be in touch with me. I am gathering a small group of us. Thank you.
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